Posts Tagged ‘pregnant’

If the poptart has her* way, bladder kicking will be the next Olympic Sport. To be quickly followed by Rib Kicking. Oy.

I shouldn’t complain. Everything, according to the ultrasound, is absolutely, perfectly normal, poptart is sufficiently squirmy and measuring in the 80th to 90th percentile in everything. And a week ahead. And I get to go in for the gestational diabetes test in a month or so because of a history of large babies in my family. Oy.

This post is still being written. Because its been a week since the earth opened and swallowed me up. At least that’s what it felt like.

I’ve been working late nights, assigned other duties at work, working a contract (which thankfully a friend took over for me for a couple of weeks or I might have died), and have I mentioned I’m pregnant and not entirely enjoying it?

As for that last post where I said I don’t like being pregnant, I was talking to some coworkers about it and it hit me, “Hey, maybe I haven’t had time to enjoy it!”

And then the week from hell hit with an extra thing the universe decided to throw my way (and no, I’m not talking about it here) which resulted in me being extra cranky and tired so I took today off.

I finished an assignment then I went shopping, because really? I deserve it after this week. And my pants don’t fit so well any more – the belly bands are just not cutting it anymore.

I went to the mall and wandered aroud The Bay a bit. Couldn’t for the life of me, find the maternity wear. Its entirely possible they don’t have maternity wear. I looked in the plus size section and what is it with clothing designers who think plus sized women would want to wear massive flowered things? So I went out to the mall proper and hit Motherhood.

Now anyone who has been shopping with me knows I hate talking to salespeople with the fire of a thousand suns. Most of the time, they try to sell me something I don’t want.

But I walked into Motherhood and was promptly overwhelmed. I mean, promptly. They had all these pants with the extra belly band on the top and various tops and bras and underwear and then my brain exploded all over the store because I have no idea how to size these things.

Not really. But a little salesgirl came up to me and said, “Hi! Have you been shopping here before? No, well welcome!” And I nearly ran out. The salesgirl looked at me and said, “What do you need?” and I nearly burst into tears.

“I am in desperate need of some pants, please,” I said.

Within about half a second she’d piled three pairs of pants into a changeroom and shooed me inside. Then she brought me a tank, three more pairs of pants (in a different style) and two pairs of jeans and two tops. “The pillow on the wall adds 3 months,” she said. “And my name’s Johanna, so if you need anything just call.”

I ended up with two pairs of pants, a pair of jeans, two tops, a tank and 7 pairs of underwear. And $250 gone from my bank account.

And those jeans? Are The Most Comfortable Jeans ever.

I now realize my vile mood has been caused, in part, by being uncomfortable in my clothes for the last couple of weeks.

The rule has always been, “Wear clothes that fit.” The rule hasn’t changed.

Me: So we have a heartbeat!
Darren: See? I knew you weren’t completely heartless.
Me: :glare:

Let’s back up a bit.

I assumed my last week’s worth of sweats and chills was just due to being knocked up. Or having some sort of virus. They’re not too bad, but they break up my sleep.

To the point that today I called in sick to work because I just felt so absolutely crappy. And slept for another four hours after the alarm went off.

When I finally hauled my ass out of bed and had some coffee (shush! I know!), and breakfast and felt slightly better, I trundled off to the local maternity clinic to see if I could go there instead of New West. Because New West? Is FAR.

And they had an opening for an appointment at 4:45 today. So I went.

After he told me Why My Doctor Would Have Gotten Genetic Testing If It Was Available When He Was Having Kids, How Genetic Testing for Downs Is a Blood Test That Gives A Lot of False Positives, and If You Get a False Positive On The Blood Test You Need to Have an Amnio Which Has a One In Two Hundred Chance of Miscarriage, my doctor took my blood pressure, while I told him about the sweats and chills. He asked about my thyroid and I said I didn’t know but mom is borderline low thyroid and he grunted.

And wrote me a prescription for pre-natal vitamins (with LOTS! of folic acid) and a requisition for a thyroid test.

Then he did an ultrasound. And I saw the heartbeat. He pronounced it a healthy 170 beats/minute.

Overheard, last year, while catching up on episodes of Battlestar Galactica (where the female Cylon fighter is pregnant):

Me: So if a Cylon is a toaster, what’s a Cylon baby?
Darren: A Poptart!

September 10, 2008 – I’d been feeling kind of crappy and tired all week. And my boobs were sore – sore to the point that if I went downstairs or upstairs, I had to hold them. And the sleeping. And the peeing.

Anyways, at some point something clicked and I wandered up to the drugstore on my lunch break and bought a two-pack of pregnancy tests (because a one-pack was only $2 less than a two-pack). Then I made some excuse at work about “errands” and went home early.

By the time I got home, I had to pee. So I dashed upstairs peed on the stick, recapped it and put it on the floor in front of me (flat, like the instructions said). Then I finished peeing. By the time I finished up, I had two lines.

Huh! I said. Wow! I said out loud.

And then I went out, got Darren a package of Poptarts, and wrapped it in birthday paper (his birthday is on the 16th). Then I figured, “What the hell” and peed on the second stick. Within about 30 seconds it came up positive.

Then I forgot to phone Darren to tell him I went home early and didn’t realize he was waiting for me at the train station. He was a little miffed. I put the poptarts on his chair in the office.

When he got home, I basically stalked him until he opened the package.

Darren: Oh! I can haz birfday present?
Me: Yes, open it. NOW.
Darren: [shakes box] is it breakable?
Me: Open. Open. OPEN.
Darren: [turns box upside down] This is killing you more than its killing me. This is fun.
Me: You have to understand, the present is really more of a symbol.
Darren: [unwrapping. Slowly. VERY VERY SLOWLY] Um. [peering at top of box on open end] A box! No! A Kellogg’s box? Breakfast? Poptarts?
Me: Ah. No.
Darren: [scratches head and frowns] OH! You’re pregnant!
Me: [grinning and nodding]
Darren: So who did you call?
Me: Well, I thought you should be the first to know, being the father and all.
Darren: Well, when a woman is pregnant she either calls her mother or her best friend.
Me: …
Darren: So, how did this happen?*
Me: If you can’t remember, it must have been a good night.

Yeah. We’re gonna be great parents.

*Look kids, we are proof that It Only Takes Once. We are however, supposedly mature adults – or so everyone tells us – with income and good jobs. I always say, if you can’t be a good example, at least be a dire warning.